The gift of a summer night,
wrapped in dew and dark,
sparks forewings scenting the air
with the whirr of small engines,
wings rubbing a celebration
of humidity, friction aglow
with imagined fire, showering pitch.
My ears lie smiling under roof, tree, moon.
–excerpt from “Crickets” in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective 2011). First published in Fifth Wednesday Journal.